What I Really Really Want
by springawakened
Summary: Ron and Hermione have gone for a short walk, leaving Harry alone in the tent for a while. There's nothing he can do while they're gone - right? Set during DH. Rated S for Stupidity. Written for HPJellicleCat's A Very Potter Challenge!


**Written for the A Very Potter Challenge! Set in DH. Disclaimer: I don't own anything, of course. If I did, I'd probably be out buying out NASA and going to Pigfarts. For real.**

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**It was cold outside, but not bitterly so. In any case, it wasn't so cold it was unbearable to Ron. He hopped on one foot over to a particularly dry looking leaf, and couldn't stop grinning at the loud crunch it gave as the sole of his shoe flattened it. Over to his right, Hermione rolled her eyes, but she didn't really mind. The childish things like that he was so prone to were half of what she loved in him, as sensible as she was. It didn't mean she wanted to be surrounded by people like that all the time, you know.

"What d'you reckon Harry's up to?" Ron asked, bounding back over to Hermione and slinging an arm around her shoulders.

"Who knows?" Hermione said, raising her eyebrows. "Sleeping? Probably... probably just thinking." Her face fell slightly as she once again remembered the levity of their situation. It wasn't that she'd ever forgotten it, but there were times, times like this, it just slipped away slightly. Times she could just pretend she was a normal seventeen year old girl.

"Bet he's eating," Ron said, as they reached the tent. "Better not have touched the Red Vines," he added in an undertone, then pushed the flap aside, letting Hermione go through before he did. "Harry? We're back, mate."

There was no response, and Ron's brow creased slightly. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Ron held up a finger and pointed hesitantly towards the kitchen. There was a muffled... humming noise? They approached it cautiously, then Ron drew his wand slowly, looking back at Hermione, before jumping to the side and pointing his wand straight ahead.

"STAND UP WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE... _Harry_?"

Instead of an intruder, as he'd expected, he was greeted by the sight of his best friend slumped against the canvas wall of the kitchen, the radio clutched tightly against one ear. Ron realised now the noise he'd heard before – Harry's face was pressed against the canvas, and he appeared to be trying to sing.

Stowing his wand, Ron went over and pulled Harry by the shoulder, so he was facing him.

"...I TELL YA WHAT I WAN', WHAT I REALLY, _REALLY_ WAN' – RON!" he shouted gleefully, spotting his ginger-haired best friend.

"He's wasted," Ron murmured, looking back at Hermione.

"I'S THE SPICE GIRLS, RON! I LOVE THE SPICE GIRLS. I wan'," he said, grabbing Ron's chin and staring at him like a madman, "I wan' marry that Posh one. Mmhm, she's _fit_."

Hermione neatly covered a giggle, and Ron hauled Harry to his feet, depositing him in a seat at the head of the table, before sitting down a seat along from him.

"Blimey, Harry, how much did you drink? We were only gone twenty minutes – tops!"

Harry swayed in his seat, trying to count on his fingers.

"Lemme fink... one, two, five, seven, eleventy-twelveteen, nine bajillion, sixty-two and four... uh... Hermione, I need your help," he said, glancing conspiratorially at her.

Composing herself, she stood up and went over to him, sitting down opposite Ron and looking seriously at her intoxicated friend.

"Yes, Harry?"

"How much is eleventy-twelve hundred plus... uh... five?" He broke off, looking dangerously confused.

"A lot, Harry. That's a lot."

"'S'at an... an Arifmanc'cal term?"

"It definitely is."

"Then," he said, turning to look back at Ron but overestimating the distance and falling off his seat, "I have had _a lot_," he whispered audibly, lying with his head on the ground and his feet on the chair. "Ya dig?"

"Yeah..." Ron trailed off, noticing the pile of bottles in the corner. Butterbeer, Simison Steaming Stout, Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, White Rat Whisky, Schletters Fine Whiskey, and what looked like mead. _I mean, really,_ Ron thought, _of everything he could have chosen, he picked _mead_?_

"GAW', I love the Spice Girls," Harry said happily, waving his feet airily.

"Harry," Hermione said suddenly, a tone of urgency spiking her words, "Harry, where's the Horcrux?"

Harry rolled over, letting his feet fall off the seat, then scrambled around for a moment, pushing himself upright and clambering back onto the chair, looking at Hermione.

"Hermione," he said seriously, "you're drunks. I means," he said, looking meaningfully over at Ron, "What th' heck's a _Hoclucks_? Honestly, wom'n, you a funny one."

He went to high-five Ron but missed the hand that Ron wasn't holding out, and smacked his hand against the tabletop instead. He snatched his hand back, pouting, missing the horrified looks on his friends' faces.

"You're joking," Ron mouthed at Hermione, as Harry started humming to another Spice Girls song.

"You know," Hermione tried again, keeping her voice light and positive, "the locket? The necklace? Harry, where's the necklace?"

"Y'mean that great big fat ugly thingy, on the chain?" Harry asked, swinging an imaginary locket before his eyes.

"That's the one!" she said encouragingly.

"Eh," he said, drawing the word out in a high, disinterested voice, "chucked that th' first chance I got. 'S'out in th' woods somewhere. Maybe a bear ate it. A BEAR!" He descended into raucous laughter, and was lost to it for quite a few minutes.

"You WHAT?" Ron shouted, jumping to his feet. "Merlin, Harry, Dumbledore _died_ to get us that!"

Harry's laughter stopped abruptly. He looked like he'd just been slapped hard across the face as he leaned back, looking between Ron and Hermione with disbelief, his head shaking from side to side slowly.

"No... no... NO! YOU'RE LYIN'! DUMBLED'RE WOULDN'T JUST GO _DIE_ LIKE THAT! YOU... YOU'RE STUPID!" he screamed, jumping up and pointing vehemently at Ron. "YOU'RE DUMB AND MEAN AND – AND – AND YOU'RE A _GINGER_!"

At this last remark, Ron just stared at the raven-haired hero of the modern world. Apparently.

"Harry," Hermione started softly, "Harry, sit down and stop shouting."

Still glaring daggers at Ron, who looked absolutely baffled, he sat down slowly. "'Mione," he said, "you gotta tell him th' truth. He's d'lusional. Dum'led're... woul'n't... no."

"Ron's not lying, Harry," she said, sighing. "He died last year. Remember? At – at school?" Her voice caught, and Ron reached across the table to take her hands. "You were there."

"No," Harry said, sounding like a small child who's just been told Santa doesn't exist. "No, no, he... no. 'Mione. No."

"I'm sorry, Harry."

"THEN WHO KILLED HIM?" he shouted suddenly, making Ron and Hermione both jump. "I'MMA KILL 'EM, CUT 'EM DOWN, BITCHES!"

"Harry – what the hell, mate?" Ron cut in, frowning. "How do you not remember all this?"

"I... what?"

"Ron," Hermione said suddenly, a figurative light bulb flicking on above her head. "Ron, he's plastered."

"I figured."

"No, but I mean – excess alcohol consumption can cause memory loss _and amnesia_. What if..."

"You're joking."

"My name's Barny," Harry announced, smiling.

"What if he legitimately doesn't remember?"

Hermione turned back to face Harry.

"Hi, 'Mione."

"Hello," Hermione smiled. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, okay? Just answer them as best you can."

Harry nodded.

"What is your name?"

"Barny... no... Harry. Harry Adams."

Ron looked confused, and opened his mouth, but Hermione cut him off.

"Last name of that girl from the Spice Girls he's decided he fancies."

"You sure it's not Harry Potter?"

"YES. Who's Harry Potter? Hey, hey, hey, hey, you know what his name should be? Harry Posser... Harry Tosser... 'cause he sounds like a tool!"

More drunken laughter.

"Right, well. I'll keep that in mind. Where do you live, Harry?"

"With my wife, Posh."

"And where did you live before then?"

"Uhh..." Harry thought hard, biting the inside of his lip. "Uhh, I think it was in a house with my mum 'n' my dad as well."

Ron closed his eyes.

"Your... your mum and dad?"

"Mmhm. They're nice."

"What do they look like, Harry?"

"Uhh... my dad has hair, 'n' my mum has eyes."

"Harry... your parents are dead."

Instead of shrieking, as Hermione had been afraid of, Harry just snorted.

"Right, right. Dead, huh? How'd that happ'n?"

"A Dark wizard called... well, a Dark wizard killed them, Harry. You were a baby, and he couldn't kill you, but they... they both died, Harry. I'm sorry."

But Harry just giggled.

"So, let's see, I was a _baby_, a liddle fatty, an' a bad man came an' killed my paren's, and then, POOF, in a puff 'f smoke, he just went, POOF, and I s'rvived?" He chortled.

"Not... not quite. He _tried_ to kill you, but he couldn't."

By now Harry was laughing freely.

"What then, did he hop on his un'corn and ride off to th' land of rainbows 'n' gold 'n' stuff like that? OH, OH, OH, let me guess! He got HAGR'D to come on his BIKE and fly him to safety."

"Wait – you remember Hagrid?" Ron interjected.

"Well, _duh_. I mean, he's THIS BIG, kinda hard t' miss, y'know?"

"No," Ron said, turning to Hermione, "he's not an amnesiac. He's an _idiot_."

Hermione ignored this little exchange and continued trying to get through to Harry.

"No, Harry, it didn't happen like that. He, uh, the bad guy had to go into hiding for ten years, until our first year at Hogwarts, and then you saw him again, remember?"

"_REALLY_?" Harry cried. "I SAW HIM? WHAT DID HE LOOK LIKE?"

"Well, he was, uh, he was on the back of our teacher's head."

This, apparently, was too much for Harry, as he burst into howls of hysterical laughter and slumped over on the table, banging it with one fist.

"STOP IT!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "DON'T MAKE ME LAUGH! I'M PISSING!"

Hermione and Ron both sat very still and stared at the boy who looked a lot like Harry but clearly couldn't be, due to his obvious lack of a functioning brain.

"Oh, Merl'n," Harry gasped after a few minutes, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater, "you, oh wow, you got me good there. That's, oh, you's a funny one, 'Mione."

"Right, well, uh," Hermione looked uncomfortable, and shifted slightly in her seat before continuing. "Now, Harry, you remember the locket?" she asked, in the sort of voice you might use when talking to a very small, not exceptionally bright child.

He nodded vigorously.

"What did you do with it? I know you didn't like it, but I need to know what you did with it. It's very important, Harry."

Harry heaved a great sigh, resting his cheek on the table and playing with his glasses. His eyes flicked between Ron and Hermione several times, so many that if you tried to watch his eyes you'd only feel sick.

"Well," he said, after a few moments, "well, you have to _promise_ you won' get mad."

"We promise," Ron said quickly, leaning forward. "C'mon, you brainless git, where'd you hide it?"

"I... _well_, I got hungry, so I, er..."

"What?"

"Well, I tried t' put in in a pie," he started, with the air of a child being forced to admit something with great reluctance, "but it di'n' work, so I got mad, and, um, I dig a hole outside, and stuck it in there. An'... then I left it there."

"And is it still there?"

"Unless a bear ated it."

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione smiled, before leaping to her feet and racing outside. Ron went after her.

"'Kay... bye you guys..." Harry mumbled, resting his chin on the table and blowing raspberries.

"What an _idiot!_" Ron fumed, the moment they were outside. "I've got a right mind to just, sort of, _hit him_, in his stupid, stupid, stupid—"

"There!" Hermione exclaimed suddenly, and Ron shut up and looked in the direction she was pointing.

There the locket lay, in a 'hole' about four inches deep, covered roughly by sticks and leaves and a bit of what looked like cucumber. Hermione bent down and brushed the mess away, picking up the locket and closing her fingers around it tightly.

"Honestly," Ron began once more, "the moment he sobers up, I'm gonna wring his bloody neck, like a chicken, you know!"

Hermione chuckled, feeling a good deal more at ease now the locket was safe. Well, as safe as it could be. "You know he's harmless, Ron."

"HARMLESS? He just chucked a bloody Horcrux on the forest floor. What the hell is harmless about that?"

"He couldn't have got it outside the enchantments if he'd tried," she shrugged simply. "Besides, you're a much worse drunk. At least he sings in tune."

She giggled and ducked inside the tent, leaving him outside looking most offended.

"But it's okay now," she said, putting the locket around her neck, "although, we'd best get Harry to b..." She trailed off.

"Get what?" Ron asked, zipping the tent shut and standing beside her. "Wait, where'd Harry go? Oh, for-! He was at the table a minute ago! Two! _Merlin_! That boy! Where'd he get t—"

He stopped, seeing a pair of feet, and walked over to the head of the table, looking down to the floor.

There the Chosen One lay, arms spread wide, glasses askew, snoring unevenly.

"_Accio blanket_," he muttered, grabbing the blanket from the air and throwing it roughly across his friend's body. His face softened slightly as he knelt and covered Harry's feet with it, pulling it back from covering his head. Then he stood up again, pushing the chair away from Harry's head and taking a few steps backwards, stopping by Hermione's side.

She looked at Harry for a few moments, a smile playing about her lips, then looked over at Ron. The smile broadened, and she took his hand, intertwining their fingers. They might have been verging on the Second Wizarding War, but right now, this very moment, she felt different. Standing in the spacious tent, watching her passed-out best friend and holding the hand of her almost-not-quite-but-soon-to-be-boyfriend, she felt the stirrings of what she vaguely recalled to be happiness.


End file.
